


Chen♥Tao ficlets

by textbook



Series: Everybody Loves Chen [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 22:14:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/textbook/pseuds/textbook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3 Chen/Tao ficlets</p><p>1. Jongdae is a transfigurations tutor and Zitao sucks at it<br/>2. People tend to forget and thus, disappear<br/>3. “you don’t want to look like an uncouth half-blood in front of your husband, wouldn’t you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. transfiguration (of the heart)

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/Me1ca8s.jpg)

transfiguration was, in zitao’s opinion, one of the hardest subjects to ever exist. granted, it was very useful, but extremely tricky. somehow he could never get the wand-flicking right.

there had to be something wrong with his wrist.

“there is nothing wrong with your wrist, mister huang,” mcgonagall narrowed her eyes at him from above her glasses. “one of my best students, jongdae kim, runs a remedial class in my classroom on saturday mornings after breakfast. since it seems our consultation sessions are inadequate for your improvement, i trust that he will see you there.”

and with that she showed him to the door.

 

 

there was a sizable crowd in the transfiguration classroom on saturday, filling up almost a quarter of the seats. zitao slid into the seat next to sehun, a perpetually-stoned slytherin in his year, and took out fresh parchment and a quill, ready to absorb everything he was about to learn.

jongdae kim strode a little while later, skipping to the front of the classroom. he was a tiny thing, probably barely reaching up to zitao’s chin. his slytherin robes swirled around behind him, looking as though it could engulf him at any given moment. there were no books or parchment in his hands.

“hi,” he said, beaming at everyone in front of him. “i’m jongdae, sixth year slytherin, and i hear you all suck at transfiguration.”

the words bit, but for some reason zitao wasn’t prickled by it. sehun had a deep frown in his forehead, as did most of the students in the room, but zitao was dazzled by jongdae’s smile. there was something in his eyes. an undeniable thirst for trouble? or was it simply a desire to be a complete asshole to everyone? whatever it was, it drew zitao in.

“since mcgonagall usually speeds through practicals and chooses instead to focus on theory, we will be a lot more – ah – handsy today,” he grinned, and zitao swooned a little. he’d love to be handsy with jongdae.

“but first, i need a volunteer,” jongdae pulled out his wand from the inside of his robes, and summoned a piece of chalk out of thin air, spinning it on the table in front of him. “we’ll be doing human transfiguration today, which i’ve been told has the lowest passing rate among you commoners. anyone up for a close encounter with a transfiguration genius?”

zitao’s arm shot up on its own accord.

“fourth row, hufflepuff?” jongdae’s smile was warm. he beckoned zitao towards him with a crook of his fingers. “why don’t you come on down?”

zitao almost crashed his knee against the table standing up so quickly. he raced down the steps two at a time. jongdae was gorgeous up close, all chiselled features and messy, wavy brown hair. his smile had that kind of lazy seduction that made zitao just want to throw himself at him, but–

“yep, just stand over here,” jongdae’s hand was firm on his back as he maneuvered zitao to the other end of the desk. “ready?”

without even waiting for a response from zitao, jongdae waved his wand.

and zitao found himself sitting on the floor, his robes loose around him. he raised his hands to his face. they were covered with black fur. his legs, too, were no longer human, but short and stubby and covered with black fur as well. white fur covered his belly.

“am i a panda?!” zitao asked, but it came out in a series of grunts. jongdae leaned down and patted him on the head.

“and that’s how it’s done,” he said, beaming at zitao. “so cute, little baby panda,” he cooed.

then he straightened himself to address the class, eyes glinting with all kinds of mischievous evil.

“now who’s next?”


	2. i don't know. i forgot.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> au wherein the apocalypse is near  
> and people tend to forget  
> and thus, disappear

there’s a face with pillow creases on the cheek, unkempt hair and unfocused, distant eyes on the front page of the thick, leather book on the bedside table.

he blinks, and the glassy eyes blink as well.

 _your name is kim jongdae_ , it reads in stocky handwriting. _you were born on the 21st of september 1992. you are a barista at the japanese café down the street and your shift starts at 10am on mondays, wednesdays and saturdays. you have a roommate named huang zitao and you spend your days off with him. your cash is kept in the black envelope under your mattress. the milk boy comes round at 9 am and the newspaper boy at 9:15. remember to pay them._

it all falls into place then, like as though bits of himself had fit snugly into the gaps in his thoughts.

his name is kim jongdae, he is 22 and a barista at the japanese café down the street. he killed his best friend in cold blood two years ago.

and has never regretted it since.

there’s a shrill ring of a doorbell three doors down, and jongdae slides into his slippers and pulls a sweater over his head. the black envelope’s tucked under the mattress as expected, filled with notes, so he pulls out a bill and a handful of coins and stuffs it back in.

he opens the door to find the milk boy with a hand raised to press the doorbell. he’s tanned with a headful of gray hair, a different boy from yesterday.

milk boys change regularly, though, so no questions are asked. money and milk is a wordless exchange, and jongdae closes the door on the boy as he keeps the coins in a pouch around his neck.

placing the milk on the worn-out table by the window, jongdae pads into the kitchen and pulls out the tray in the bread bin – a half-eaten loaf of bread, an almost empty bottle of jam and a knife nestled nicely on it. grabbing a plate and a clean glass, he places the items by the bottle of milk and takes a seat.

a boy with long, dark hair and heavy eyebags passes him, then backtracks and surveys his face. he opens his mouth to ask a question, but jongdae beats him to it.

“zitao,” jongdae greets. “i’m your roommate, jongdae.”

the blank eyes blink to life, and zitao runs a hand through his hair, sheepish. “right. god, i wish i could remember on my own.”

“you would if you kept a diary,” jongdae says. it’s the same exchange everyday that he can feel his tongue curving into the syllables out of habit before his mind can even string the words together.

zitao hums in reply as always, pulling out the other chair and sitting down. jongdae pours himself a glass of milk, then slides the rest of the bottle over to the other boy.

“kevin disappeared yesterday. yixing woke up with one of kevin’s pajama sleeves around his waist,” jongdae begins, remembering his colleague’s horribly broken expression.

there is a heavy silence.

“i can’t imagine the pain he’d felt when he found that kevin wasn’t there anymore,” zitao says softly. “i’ll never have a lover; losing is entirely too painful.”

jongdae sips his milk, mulling over zitao’s words. “they had four years together, though. that’s something he’ll never regret.”

“you talk as though he’s still alive, ge. didn’t he shoot himself shortly after he got home?”

an image of a body with fresh tear tracks down its cheeks and a blossoming wound on its chest flashes in jongdae’s mind.

“…oh. well, i guess he’ll never be alone then. since they’re both dead. together.”

zitao sighs in accordance and nibbles at the mouth of the milk bottle. “that’s good, i guess,” there is a pause, then. “what was his boyfriend’s name again?”

jongdae frowns, trying to remember, but the name has escaped him. “i don’t know. i forgot.”


	3. bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “you don’t want to look like an uncouth half-blood in front of your husband, wouldn’t you?”

the robes jongdae had on were heavy, weighing down on his shoulders like a burden. his mother clicked her tongue at him in disapproval when she noticed him hunching, and pulled his shoulders back.

“you don’t want to look like an uncouth half-blood in front of your husband, wouldn’t you?” she whispered, her lips close to his ear so the house elves wouldn’t be able to hear.

jongdae doesn’t reply, keeping his chin up and his shoulders held tight instead as his mother arranges his hair, as though it were some kind of floral display. it’s not the first time in his life he’s felt like a puppet; ever since jongdeok passed in the war three years ago all of the expectations the family had had were transferred onto him.

now that he’s graduated top of his class in hogwarts, he’s ready to fulfill one of the largest responsibilities that was expected of him: marrying the child of another pureblood family. but the korean magical community is small, and the risk of intermarriage is high, so jongdae’s parents, in a pursuit to secure a better future for jongdae in an uncertain, post-war era, had searched in china.

that was how they began trading with the huang family.

 

as korean wizarding traditions go, purebloods who were to be married were not allowed to see one another until the day of the wedding, so jongdae didn’t really understand the fuss his mother had made over his appearance. he was led into a room with a thin sliding door, and made to sit in front of it. there was a faint outline of a person on the other side, a little larger than jongdae was.

“you may now speak,” jongdae’s father said, and jongdae bowed before the screen. the person behind it – his husband, jongdae thought weakly – bowed back, and there was a pause before one of them spoke.

“huang zitao?” jongdae began just as the other boy (man?) called out his name.

“ah, please, speak first,” zitao said, motioning with his hands.

“no, you can go first,” jongdae said, panicking. from the corner of his eye he noticed his father’s frown going a little deeper.

“i’m sorry, i’m younger, so i should have waited for you to speak,” zitao bowed again, and jongdae rose a little in alarm.

“don’t be,” he said, a little too loudly that his father shook his head lightly. jongdae cleared his throat, and added softly, “i’m not...really particular about those kinds of things.”

there’s a muted chuckle from the other side of the screen. “i’m glad,” zitao said. “i’ve often been told that i’m a rather insolent child.”

jongdae almost let out a snort a that. growing up, he had been told countless times exactly that too. “i was the youngest in my family, so that was my nickname as well.”

“was?”

“my brother died in the war,” the more jongdae said it, the more the grief and loss felt easier to accept and deal with. his brother had been his best friend and confidante, and jongdae had been his rock when the family’s expectations on him had gotten too tough. they got along well despite family politics and the horrors of war.

until he found himself at the receiving end of a killing curse and fell limply to the ground, all life wiped from his eyes.

zitao gasped softly. “i am so sorry,” he said, and jongdae could tell that he had really meant it.


End file.
